Romanticise The World
by FerrumVigro
Summary: Altair was no fool...and yet... Edited-20/3/13


_**Disclaimer**: I own nothing._

_**Summary**: Altair was no fool…and yet…_

_**A/N:** Isn't experimentation fun? Yeeeaahh…*sigh* This is a wee oneshot produced during my attempts at starting the newest chapter for Libero-which I'm trying to get out ASAP but I want to re-edit and clear up some rough edges on what's up already before that. So, please bare with me._

_**EDIT-20/3/13:** I did say I wanted to rewrite some bits in this and I've gotten around to fixing a few things I was really unhappy with. I'd suggest a re-read; the ending has changed slightly._

* * *

He is not, nor will he ever be, a romantic man.

It is not a part of his nature or within his blood to romanticise the world around him; it is already too clouded without the sweetened words of man to cover the harsher truths hidden beneath. Romance is a fable thing, only for the hopeless dreamers of the world and foolishly young.

Altair is no fool.

And yet…

~0~0~0~

He meets her within the afterglow of battle with the clashing of metal still tainting his ears, surrounded by the dying moans of men, his senses burning acutely; his blood pumping through his system, full of adrenalin and heightened arousal. Sweat marks his brow and his breathing is harshly deep yet even, practiced and paced.

And there he stands, his blade to his target's throat and there _she_ stands, staring defiantly back with dark eyes, her own breathing labored yet even, practiced and paced.

There they meet for the first time, burning in the afterglow, burning with anger and determination and strength, devotion to their cause; together, a distorted reflection of the other. Harsh words with harsher meanings are exchanged.

His world is a blur of knowledge and realisation, cold, hard truths, and he flees. He throws her back her life and runs. Leaving her behind to simply stare.

It takes a few days, a few nights and mornings spent in an endless daze of duty, grief and pain for him to remember her. But he never forgets. How could he with her image burnt into his mind, her blazing eyes and pale skin, dark hair, darker glare.

It takes him awhile, a few days, many nights and then he realises that he doesn't even know her name but by then, it doesn't even matter.

He doesn't notice.

~0~0~0~

_Maria._

She is all sharp edges and crude words. Least, at first. He learns many things about her between snapped exchanges and burning glares. She wears a self-made mask of masculinity and has been running from herself most of her life. A girl who wanted to be one of the boys. She stands a woman in mans clothing, her long hair tied back and pulled up, sealed away from the world, a smirk to her thin lips with a posture radiating confidence.

And he _likes_ it.

Sharp and edgy like a blade. Lace on steel. She wears an armoured shell yet within…

He can see and he doesn't need his Gift to do so.

Beneath is a creature truly unique and he admits to himself and himself alone, something wildly beautiful. He is an Assassin, a born hunter and he knows, understands and accepts that his take on what is beautiful in the world is distorted but she nestles there nicely.

He soon begins to see her as her, as _Maria_ and he learns that he likes the curl of his tongue lacing over her name as much as he likes to hear his own from her lips.

As the days pass them by, he learns more of her, about her. He learns to care about her and finds himself watching her from the corner of his eye.

But even then, he doesn't notice.

~0~0~0~

He doesn't notice until it is too late.

Until countless nights have passed in quiet waking, staring at the stars, listening to the soft and even breathing of a warm body close to his own.

He starts to notice, starts to realise.

He cannot picture his days ahead without her. He cannot bare the thought of them separating to each tread their own paths; he wants her to walk with him along his to wherever it leads.

He allows himself to dwell on the possibilities, the_ Could Be's_ and _What If's_, that sweep havoc upon his mind in the morning hours. However the reality of his life will always take hold and shatter whatever happy ending he has conjured with the rising sun. Only in the dark does he let himself dream without sleep.

He realises slowly, almost subconsciously and then it hits him hard the evening sunlight fades and yet gold remains solid and sure within his line of site. By his side.

"Ah."

There's an arrow lodged deep within his chest and there's no hope of ever removing it without further injury. It is going to hurt should he try. It is going to scar like before.

He's in love with her.

And there's nothing romantic about it.

~0~0~0~

As an Assassin, discretion was one of many words stitched into the bones and skin that made him whole. However here, where Maria is concerned, he has failed.

His little realisation plagues his mind over and over until he finds that his dreams are no longer bound to the night alone. They effect his thoughts and actions towards her to a certain degree and it pains him to know that he cannot afford to linger. He cannot spend his days dreaming.

So he lets them go and the circles under his eyes darken, day by day.

But by then, Maria knows.

At least, she understands that something is wrong with him.

He has completely failed and it actually stings his pride to have her look at him with concern in her eyes.

"Don't," He will breathe, keeping his distance and avoiding all eye contact, only watching the blur from the corner of his vision.

"Don't what?" She will snap back with her dark eyes shining in defiance, searching for a challenge, waiting for him to bite back. But he denies her this small pleasure and instead he merely shakes his head, his eyes searching the unclear path before them. He doesn't want to fight back in fear that when he looks upon her inflamed eyes and burning cheeks that he will smile and she will know.

It never occurs to him that it is his silence that gives him away and with his eyes so far cast aside, he never notices Maria's withdrawn and defeated expression.

Her own wistful glances and longing looks.

~0~0~0~

He doesn't notice until it's almost too late.

But when he does and realisation comes, there is no great shift or life-changing moment. It feels as though he had always known in some deep part of himself, his dreams a glimpse towards truth.

When it comes to it, it's natural and flowing between them, step by step as though they had learnt this dance long before under the sun.

Only now it is night and Altair is tired of his dreams.

He takes her face into his palm, her soft, flushed cheek against his rough, calloused skin and he looks into her dark eyes and he sees his own need and want reflected back as he had that day so many lifetimes before when they first met. That devotion and determination but now…now he sees that it is for him.

She burns for him, her heated skin against his own and he needs, _wants_, to let her know, to make her understand, that he too feels the same.

His lone thumb traces her lips, dry and thin yet so very rosy and wanting, he watches as Maria's eyes darken and her brow tilts in a small, confused frown.

"Alta-?"

But he doesn't let her finish.

He has lived this all before and he knows what to do.

He merely lowers his lips until they're a breath apart, eyes never leaving her own and he tells her,

"I've been such a fool," Her eyes flicker briefly to his lips, so close to her own, then back to his eyes, "I want you…I hav…I have since the very beginning, Maria."

She does not smile or laugh and there is no gasp of surprise or widening of eyes; she simply nods and cups his own cheek in her hand, pulling him to her.

They kiss, soft and slow then rough and hard, long and breathtaking, their hands wandering; it is answer enough for them, months of hidden feelings and thoughts are expressed by touch and taste, with the whisper of breath against bare skin, uneven and heavy.

Somehow through it all with sweat tainting his lips, he traces her collarbone with his tongue and confesses,

"I'm in love with you."

As he has many times within his dreams.

At first he is unsure if she has heard but then her hands still and move from his neck to his chest and she pushes him back until she can see his face as he lies above her,

"You mean that?"

"Yes," He tells her, ready to accept her response whatever it may be, "I mean it. I have known for some time. I don't want to leave your side, Maria."

"But…how…I'm not…" She shakes her head in disbelief, a smile tugging her lips, "I've been…foolish...with you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Assassin, I've let myself dream for too long...I fell a long time ago."

And he finds it all so terribly ironic and cruel yet wonderfully beautiful to have this creature of steel and silk love him, returning his feeling. He smiles and forgets his dreams, least for now and he_ lives._

He captures her lips with his own, sharing his desire and he lets her explore him as he has been longing of her doing, the two of them sharing breath and sweat well into the night, both burning with arousal and adrenaline, the world beyond forgotten.

Blades are replaced with searching fingertips and moist, soft lips. The clashes of steel against steel are replaced with soft skin meeting hardened muscle and rough hair. There are no moans of the dying here but there are the moans of the living and whispers of the alive. Their blood pumps through their veins, burning as their harsh breathing fills the room and together they discover the truth; it's all so familiar to them yet so very different.

They learnt this dance so long ago.

~0~0~0~

It is only years later does Altair realise.

He thinks back to those moments in time from so long before; to those nights together, side-by-side over tomes and under stars, between silks and atop towers, across seas and through foreign lands. They had been through so much together, achieved so much, created so much...

When he closes his eyes he can still feel the familiar warmth of soft skin against his cheek, the love in the mere touch, from the same women who'd once held a cold blade to his heated throat.

It was almost...

No.

It was a foolish idea and he was no fool.

Nor a romantic.

And yet...

_-dreams of laughter, of hidden touches and sighs, of bliss, of love, of children, of happiness-_

Perhaps..just perhaps...he was a dreamer.

And he could live with that.

* * *

_I hope you like it. I don't really know if I created anything here but I hope you enjoyed reading it._

_I suppose this comes from my 'Libero' universe-if it could be called that-as Altair does see Maria and his children as Gold through his Sight within it(as I see them as not targets but as being placed higher than the blue/white of his brothers and others around him-they're people of importance.)_

_Reviews would be nice!_


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